


Softer than Shadow

by RoughMoon



Category: Lost Souls - Poppy Z. Brite
Genre: Dark, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 10:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoughMoon/pseuds/RoughMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a bit twisted, but I always thought Ghost isn't the absolutely white wizard sometimes he seems to be, so I wanted to see how he would look like while playing wicked games with poor Steve. Sometimes love hurts... Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!<br/>Disclaimer: All characters belong to Poppy Z. Brite and the publishing companies she works with. No disrespect or harm is meant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Softer than Shadow

**Bugs**

It's been almost two years now, I know because of the concert, the last one we finished with "World". I have the program pinned up on the wall of our bedroom, with the date written in Ghost’s now dried Magic Markers, each number a different color. After that day, Ghost said we should be doing something special to mark the change in our relationship, and he suggested closing our concerts with a new song he had just finished that same week. Its name is "Dark Fire" and of course I should be flattered, as it is about me. I think… People love this song; it transports them somewhere far away from their boring lives, makes them think about burning alive, willingly, with ecstasy. And I like it too but it scares me as much, it makes me feel I can't follow Ghost anywhere, not anymore. That was the first change, the first of many, as subtle as the rest.

I always knew, even not really admitting it, that Ghost was strong, strong in a ductile, resilient way, as a reed is, someone who wouldn't break by the wind no matter how fierce it is, someone to rely on, to hold on to. But now I know I wasn't completely right. He’s not only strong, he is powerful, and he is using his power now, sometimes I even think he is trying it on me.

At the beginning it was perfect. Those blissful first months are worth my whole life. I couldn't believe my hesitation, how I had waited so long for that. Fucking was great then, and it still is, but now I have all these fears... He was totally inexperienced, and man, how I loved it! I showed him the passion, the patience, the games, how to enjoy it all, and although it took a while he developed a very strong pleasure on that. I think he surprised even himself by that, but he ended up mastering it all, taking control and leading instead of being mentored. And what a learner he is! How slowly can he suck me now, how pleasurably and how painfully too. I lose all sense of time and place, only he remains, everything else literally disappears. And when I finally come I feel ecstasy and relief but it leaves me so, so raw. I can see myself skinless, a beating pulp on his hands. And he can fuck with my brain pretty expertly too. He can make me believe we are laying in the shore of a far away beach, under a crescent moon, and I feel the sand in my skin, the warm breeze in my hair, I hear the crashing of the waves, taste the salt of the seawater spray in my lips… He's the best lover because…, well obviously because I'm mad about him, but also because he feels my feelings all the time, and much more when we touch. He knows exactly what I want, if I can wait or not, how to tease me, excite me, how to drive me crazy, and he plays to the extreme with that. You never have to tell him to slow down, to bite, to pull or to smooth, when to be rough and when to be tender, he always knows that. But sometimes he just decides to ignore it. Now sometimes he does exactly the opposite.

He is so confident now, and he likes to push me over the edge often. Just a few days ago we were in the Sacred Yew after one of our concerts, drinking and talking, almost ready to call it a night and head home. We were planning the next concerts with Kinsey when I clearly heard his voice inside my head, although he hadn't moved his lips. "Kiss me". It sounded like a plea, but joyful, playful, to prove me maybe. And I think other people heard it too, because I saw a few half smiles in some faces, and Kinsey said "you know you can do whatever you want here. I own the place and whoever looks twice at you will see their asses out of the Yew in a blink". I just smiled and replied "I know, but if I start I don't think I can stop". It was true; I could have devoured him on the spot. And when he suddenly took my face with his hands to give me a luxury kiss I almost did.

I'm not ashamed and I would (and I have done it a few times) send straight to hell anyone who dares to look at us in a funny way, but he likes to out us in situations he knows I will feel exposed or when I least expect it. And if I ask anything about this he only replies in his mysterious, cryptic way, making me think I'm crazy, stupid, a coward, or any combination of the former. And sometimes I think that's the reality. Sometimes he still looks deep into my eyes like I'm the only important part of his life and I think I hear the magic words in my head, although I can't really understand them.

Because, after all, what is it that I'm complaining about? That my partner is not the sweet little boy he used to be? I'm not a pedophile, so that's not it. That he's become a sex master? That he's smarter and so, so much more special than me? That he wants everybody to know we are together? No, that's not really it. But he doesn't seem to be the same person anymore. He's not a stranger, but this change is more profound than simply maturing, this is utter transformation and it scares the hell out of me.

And I just can’t forget what happened a couple of months ago, it still shrinks my heart to think about it… It was the end of September, summer was almost over and we went to swim at the lake with some friends. He was diving in the water and I was trying to get warm under a mild sun, half seated, leaning against a rock and talking with Terry, Victoria, RJ, I don't know who else. He came back smiling and nudged my legs apart to sat over me, cutting the conversation, spooning me, his back on my chest, his head leaning on my shoulder, his ass on my crotch, leg to leg, numbing me, leaving me unable to speak, not remembering what I was thinking one second ago. His skin was as cold and slippery as an abyssal fish might be. I felt my nipples unscrewing and ready to fall to the ground. I was breathless for more than a minute, my face surely a mess, while everyone was laughing, probably thinking I was stupidly embarrassed. But they didn't feel that unnatural coolness, so freezing even my back hurt. My dick retreated so much I think it almost bruised my spine, and I saw water vapor rising from the heated rock where the liquid from his head was falling.

I can't live without him. I could take him out of my life as much as I can sever my head from my own neck, but I'm quite sure now that this will end up destroying me. How I wish I could go back to the old times when I was in control, when he would be happy just letting our simple life together slip through our fingers every day with no more complications than finding the right words for a new song. I could then look into those two windows open to a clear sky and be sure what I would find there. My friend, my lover, my brother. Now I feel I'm looking across the blue ocean five feet below the surface, vast and unknown, pure and beautiful but a bit menacing, where any kind of strange creatures might suddenly appear, where you will drown if you can't get air soon enough. Maybe it was killing Zillah what caused this, maybe some of his rage and madness went into Ghost through that knife, maybe Ann's spirit, that he told me he had been seeing for some time after New Orleans, tortured him too much... I don't know, but there is something I can swear: if this finally gets me I won't ever leave his side. I know I'm damned and I know I will become his ghost. Maybe then I'll understand him.

I'm an addict now, a junkie. I'm addicted to his hands, his lips, to that tongue, to his soft cock growing hard inside my mouth, to his hair like rain slowly washing my hands and cooling my brain. My brain, that poor thing. I'm not good with words spoken out loud, but those words are trapped bullets fired inside my head bouncing from wall to wall, leaving marks, biting, chewing and eating the little sanity I still have. I'm not a religious person, but I think I understand them now. If I was, your body would be my sanctuary, your soul my heaven.

And I believe I might deserve punishment, of course. Let's face it, I killed Christian, I'm an assassin. Yes, he was a vampire, he took lives to feed, but does killing a murderer make you less of a murderer? And Ghost killed Zillah to save me, and I ruined Ann's life and caused her death. And what I regret the most, all those years when I didn't dare to face what I really wanted. That's a good record, it's more than enough, and punishment as it seems logical, as it happens in the movies, would have been Ghost being taken from me. Then I would have drunk myself in a week or so. Fair enough, end of the story. A sad one, like many...

But this is twisted, it's wicked, this is evil's proof.

Still, I don't want to accept it's all lost, because sometimes he wakes me in the middle of the night, hugging me tight, desperately kissing me, begging me to get inside of him. And I then I can still believe everything is ok, that we will always be twin souls, that I'm just a crazy possessive alcoholic seeing bugs crawling on the wall.

 

**The spiderman**

I'm not sure how I created this monster. Myself, I mean.

The first time Steve fucked my ass I thought I would break in two, but I wanted him so badly that pain, blood and tears meant nothing to me. Still, I wouldn't be able to give him that kind of pain. I can't live without him, but something inside myself makes me believe I can't be anymore the complacent Ghost of our childhood he’s desperately trying to find. Because I truly believe I'll lose him if I don't take control of the situation, and I'm trying hard, really hard. I'm not sure when I started to change, when I became so afraid of losing him, because I had never been before. What happened when Ann died and I killed Zillah was drastic for me, and almost at the same time I understood that being best friends with Steve wasn't going to be enough anymore. Also I realized what I was capable to do for him; I killed, and that gave me another perspective of myself. Because yes, Zillah was a vampire. So what? He was a living creature and I killed him. I killed him because Steve wanted his revenge. So, if I could stub a knife into someone else's temple and destroy a life, what could stop me after that? I couldn’t leave things to Steve again or who knows what we wound end up doing, to whom.

And, as important as that, I discovered I was not the asexual, almost no-gender hippie I thought. Such a stupid weirdo I was! It was first the kissing, and I still enjoy kissing more profoundly than anything else, but also the skin by skin rubbing, the power to give someone else pleasure, to obtain it. I love Steve's hot cock entering my body, the pressure, his urgency, the look in his eyes when we are so intimately close. I take pleasure from his pleasure, nothing can send me higher. And I realized I couldn't live without this. No, friendship will no longer be enough, never ever, not anymore. And so I feared losing that, a smothering fear that suffocates my eyes and thickens all my fluids.

Maybe fear first entered my body when I swallowed his come, maybe it was there, mixed with the spicy taste so that I wouldn't notice, maybe it was in his spit too and in his sweat, surely it was in his tears. And I licked it all, swallowed it all, drank it all, many times. So, so thirsty. And his fear is my fear now, fear to lose him and fear that this is destroying us both. I let fear travel to my brain, a vicious fever infecting my cells and going back to Steve again. He's more fragile every day, he drinks more every night..., I think he might be getting crazy. And how I miss my wild Steve, the boy who would face anything or anyone stepping in his way, in our way, without hesitation. He is tamed now, and I despise myself for this. I have to stop this. Because sometimes, when he's deep inside of me, just about to lose it, I can see in his eyes his old wild heart looking at me. He's still there, and I know I could bring him back. We could still be happy, be together without having to burn ourselves for it.

I had that dream a few weeks ago, and I'm still trying to understand it. We were together in a place I have never been before, maybe it wasn't even America. We looked relaxed, talking and laughing, enjoying the sun and our own company. Steve was different, his skin thicker, his dark hair not so shiny, but his gaze was clear and his features were sharp again. He seemed happy and I felt good in a strange way, like I was there but I was also observing the scene from our bed here in Missing Mile, a night like tonight. My dreams are never to be taken lightly, so what does that one mean? Am I recovering my balance, will I be able to untangle the knot and move on? I'm not sure, because in a far angle on the scene there was this strawberry blonde with hair like Ann's, although I can't really say it was her. Who was she? Ann's spirit, which only I can see? Why was she there then? I haven't seen her since the first time Steve and I were together. Or she might be a total stranger, but I know for sure she was linked to us, to Steve, in some close way. Is this maybe why Steve seemed so happy? Because of her? Is this hell real, then? I can't stop trying to make sense of all of this, because we can't continue like this, I don't want to torture him, us, anymore, but I can't find the path that leads back to reason either.

I know I'm not normal, never mind how I hate that shitty stinky overused statistical word, so you can't expect a normal relationship with me, just love, sex, work, house and all that. I'm quite as different as anyone else, just maybe a tiny little bit more, and sometimes I wish I could remove that weird part of me, like getting a new hair cut when I'm tired of my long locks.

I often remember the first time we spoke, so many years ago, when I saw that dark-haired boy I barely knew, holding my fate and walking straight to the spider web. How could I have imagined I would end up becoming that spider? Would I have stayed quiet if I knew?

I don't understand why I can't stop now. Do I really think I'll lose him if I stop? I have never lied to myself and I won't start just now. He told me once "you are not scared of what your heart knows". No, I'm not scared of that. Or maybe I'm not scared at all...

And I think I kind of like it.


End file.
